


Flickering

by Cordelias_Soliloquy



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt Loki, Kid Loki, Kid Thor, Loki Feels, Loki Needs a Hug, Pre-Thor (Movie), Protective Thor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-30
Updated: 2012-12-30
Packaged: 2017-11-22 23:43:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/615695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cordelias_Soliloquy/pseuds/Cordelias_Soliloquy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A jest goes too far, Loki pays the price.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flickering

**Author's Note:**

> Loki has moments in his childhood, in his long life--blurred, distorted fragments of time and memories--in which he can pinpoint exact moments of pain, in which he started to realize that he has never belonged. This is one of those fragments. Thor tries to make it right.

Laughter echoes in a hollow chorus, bouncing off of spherical, gold-gilded walls and the rounded ceiling. The firelight casts dark giants on the walls, deformed visions of their owners that gather around in a group. The only other sounds come from the hushed crackling of the hearth as flames lick and devour the freshly laid tender, and the mixed voices, talking over each other to share their sides of the story. The ruckus hides the footsteps—well enough so that Sif and the Warriors Three are at least somewhat startled when Loki appears beside the fire pit. Thor is the only one who does not start at his brother’s inconspicuous entrance, for he is used to it—the light steps, the slender shadow.

The group falls silent. Thor swivels on his perch on the glossy gold floors, craning his neck to meet Loki’s gaze. The young god stretches out his legs toward the flickering flames, soaking up the warmth. “Brother,” Thor offers a smug smile in greeting, “Back from the libraries so soon? Perhaps you would like to join us in our discussion.” Thor is glad to see his brother. As of late, Thor has seen Loki less and less—for now, though they are still but boys, they near their young-adult years, and have started to peruse their own interests.

”Oh yes,” Fandral rolls his eyes, “We were just setting Thor straight about our battle in Nidavellir a fortnight ago—how we saved his hide—” He turns to Loki, “You were there, were you not? Inform Thor of how I saved him with my impressive combat skills.”

Loki raises an eyebrow and shakes his head with mock pity, shadows dancing across his pale face and dark hair. “If I recall correctly, Fandral, it was I who delivered us from danger. Remember the illusion I cast, or has the blow to your head made you forget?” Loki returns Thor’s smile, leaning his back against one of the stone pillars that decorates Asgard’s royal halls. He folds his lanky arms across his chest.

Fandral smirks. “You mean that little trick you pulled? That was more like putting a stop to the thrill of battle, rather than a defensive strategy.”

Volstagg chuckles deeply. “Come now, Loki—go back to burying your nose in your tomes and scrolls in the library—we are talking of real battle here, not magic. Your tricks are only useful when hiding from conflict.”

Loki feigns astonishment. “I am surprised you know of books, Volstagg, considering they are not edible.” Fandral and Thor burst into laughter. Sif rolls her eyes. Hogun sighs.

At Volstagg’s frown, Thor composes himself. “Loki,” Thor scolds with a grin, “have care how you speak to our friends.” He watches as Loki bridges the gap between them with long strides, halting in front of the fire, the orange glow reflecting in his pale eyes.

“Twas merely spoken in jest.” Loki shrugs his slim shoulders carelessly. “Right, Volstagg?”

Volstagg clasps his hands together. “I do not doubt it. But I did not speak in jest—for I stand by the fact that magic plainly cannot compare to brute strength in battle.”

Fandral laughs. “Do not be so harsh, Volstagg—tis not Loki’s fault he cannot lift a blade.”

“Aye, but even a maiden such as Lady Sif can wield a weapon.” At Sif’s growl, Volstagg winces and adds, “No offense, Sif.”

Thor chortles lightly. He turns to Loki, “Come, brother—sit with us.” Hogun and Sif exchange irritated glances at this suggestion. Whether or not Loki notices the looks of dislike from the group, he does not show it.

Loki sneers. “Ah, but what of sorcery of this nature?” Loki’s hands hover over the blazing fire, fingers dancing in the air as he hisses words of conjuring under his breath. The flames leap up from the hearth at his command, billowing high and into the shape of a fiery dragon’s head.

There is a pause. “That is a nice trick, but I hardly think that—”

Loki’s eyes narrow as he focuses on manipulating the element, paying no attention to the warriors’ jabs. The flames struggle against the enchantment, sputtering and flickering as Loki mutters incantations. He steps back, flinching slightly as the fire flares but relents to his control, flying out of the pit and into the air, a floating serpent. He bares his teeth in a triumphant grin. “Is not this suited for combat, my friends? Surely much damage could be done—” He turns to Sif, who glares, tempting the flames in her direction. “Could I not set fire to an enemy? Or singe your golden hair? Perhaps we should test this trick.” Though Loki says this lightly, Thor grimaces.

“Loki— you’ve had your fun. There is no need for such hostility—our friends were merely teasing you. You have taken this joke too far.” Thor tries to meet Loki’s gaze through the flames. No one is amused or making humorous comments.

“Am I not allowed to quip? Or is that only allowed when it is at my expense?” Loki slowly lowers his arms, bringing the flames down, guiding them to their hearth-home.

“Brother—”

The fire suddenly flares at it reaches the pit, roaring up again to life in a burst of orange light, exploding toward him before dying out. Loki yelps, falling backwards and landing hard on his rear on the floor. Thor jumps up. “Loki? You are unharmed?” His words are drowned out by the amplified laugher, even from Hogun the Grim. Thor lets out a small laugh, though it dies in his throat as Loki kneels and doubles over on the ground, his hands tucked protectively against his chest.

“Oh, yes—” Fandral gasps between giggles of mirth, “You could certainly use that technique in a fight. You could distract you opponent by lighting yourself on fire—or perhaps making him laugh to death.”

Thor shoots his friend a scathing look. He walks around the circular fireplace, striding over to where his little brother still lies. Thor’s hand hovers over Loki’s back, though he does not touch him. “Loki—are you all right?”

Loki’s eyes are tightly shut, his jaw clenched. “I am fine, you oaf. I merely burned by hands.” Thor cannot tell if Loki’s tone is sarcastic or not.

Thor backs away as Loki stands to his feet. Without a word, Loki swiftly strides out of the room, exiting through the towering golden doors. There is a moment of silence. “Perhaps I should tend to my brother.” Thor turns to his friends, who look somewhat guilty.

Volstagg nervously chuckles. “I’m sure the burns he sustained are not serious—he is of æsir blood, after all. He probably just injured his pride.”

Thor shakes his head absently. “I will return later. I must check on Loki.” Thor exist the room quietly, leaving his friends behind, and journeys down the beautifully crafted, high-ceilinged hallways. He suspects to find Loki hidden away in his chambers, as usual—and so he is shocked to find Loki only a few feet away, leaning against the wall near the balcony. The curtains of rich red billow in the evening weather, concealing Loki from sight with every breeze—swamping him. Thor notices how incredibly small his brother looks in comparison to the grand splendor of Asgard’s palace. He is still just a boy—they both are. “Brother—”

“Leave me be, Thor.”

Thor recoils at the anger in Loki’s voice—but also at the strain behind it. Thor realizes that he is crying. Thor’s face flushes at his brother’s embarrassment, his gaze finding the floor. “May I see your burns?”

Loki laughs bitterly. “Why? So that you can mock me further for being weak?” Loki gingerly uncurls his fists, holding out his palms for Thor to see. There are harsh, angry welts that cover the length of Loki’s flesh on his hands, his fingers trembling from the pain. Thor gasps. He has never seen such severe burns on æsir skin before—not at a such minor exposure to a flame.

“I should not have laughed, brother. I am sorry. We must take to you a healer—this is not normal—”

“Fine. I will go alone. You can return to your friends now.”

Thor frowns. “No—I will go with you. You come first, Brother.” His words are true. Thor tentatively wraps an arm around Loki’s shoulders, and the two of them begin walking down the halls. “I am sorry, brother.” Loki says nothing. ”We will think of a brilliant prank to get back at Volstaff and Fandral for laughing so. I swear it.” Thor teases, offering a smile. They walk the rest of the way to the healing room in silence. Thor stays with Loki as salve is smeared on his burned flesh, and as bandages are wrapped around his hands. He stays at the side, shuffling his feet awkwardly. “Is all forgiven, Brother?” Thor asks softly as he and Loki wander from the room, “You do not hold a grudge, do you?”

When Loki finally meets Thor’s glance, his face breaks into a smile that does not quite reach his eyes. “Of course, Brother. Have I ever been known to hold a grudge?”


End file.
